


(un)dead guy in room four

by someplacelikebolivia



Category: Schitt's Creek, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Ghosts, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someplacelikebolivia/pseuds/someplacelikebolivia
Summary: Sometimes, the Winchesters stay at roadside motels. The Rose family just happens to own one.





	(un)dead guy in room four

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why this happened, but it did happen, so here you go. Thanks to newtonartemis for beta :)

Gravel crunched under the Impala’s tires as Dean swung into the parking lot. Pulling up in front of the motel office, he cut the ignition and stretched, reaching across to none too gently shove his brother’s shoulder, waking him up from his doze mid-snore.

“Done with your nap, sleeping beauty?” Dean joked, stretching his legs as he got out of the car.

Sam frowned, wiping the side of his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, and grateful that Dean hadn’t noticed the drool. “Where are we, Dean?” He checked his watch. Coming up on midnight – they’d been driving all day, could be anywhere by now.

“Hell if I know, Sammy,” Dean replied. “Took a left turn off the highway a ways back, figured we might as well get some rest before Bobby calls us with some werewolf or rugaru nonsense and we have to hightail it back across the country.”

“You don’t even know what _town_ we’re in?”

Dean laughed. “Actually that I do know. You should have seen it Sam, the town sign right off the highway. I don’t know who painted that, but they had some weird ideas about appropriate family behavior.”

Despite the unlocked door, the motel office was empty, and an entirely un-helpful ‘Back in 15 Minutes!’ sign stood in the center of the desk. At least there was a bell, Dean thought, although when he touched it, it didn’t so much ring as clank.

“Hello?” he called. “Paying customers here, can we get a room?”

After thirty seconds of waiting, during which Dean engaged in a fruitless staring contest with a taxidermy deer hung on the wall, a young woman came out behind the desk.

“Hello welcome to the Rosebud Motel thank you for stopping in my name is Stevie how can I help you?” she said in a monotone single breath, before affixing a smile on her face that even Dean could tell wasn’t genuine.

“Uh, double room for one night, thanks.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, “Name?”

“Smith. Dean Smith.”

“ID?”

Dean handed over one of his newer IDs and a recently opened credit card to match. After punching a few keys, she handed them back and turned to grab a key from the rack behind her. “Okay, Mr. ‘Smith’, you’ll be in Room 4, down the sidewalk to your left.” With another genuinely insincere smile, she pointed him out of the office.

###

“Room 4, Sammy,” Dean said, hauling a duffel out of the Impala’s trunk. “Let’s hope they’ve got Magic Fingers.”

“Let’s hope they don’t, Dean.”

The motel room was plain, but clean, at least by the standards Sam judged roadside motels by. At least they could get a decent night’s rest without anything weird happening for once.

###

 _Should have known better, Sam_ , he cursed himself, swinging a machete through the spirit that was currently advancing on Dean, arms outstretched. “Any time now with that salt, Dean!” he shouted, scanning the room and waiting for the spirit to re-appear. Dean cursed under his breath, but managed to dig out the canister of salt from his bag and slot the salt-filled shells into place and cock the shotgun. It was just in time, as the spirit coalesced behind Sam.

“Duck!” Dean roared, and pulled the trigger. Rock salt peppered the wall to the adjoining room, disintegrating the spirit again.

Back-to-back now, the brothers waited. They couldn’t banish the ghost with iron or rock salt, not until they could figure out what was tying it to this motel in the first place. The ghost didn’t come back, and the early morning sunlight shining through the curtains told them why.

“Stupid ghosts,” growled Dean, flinging the shotgun onto the bed. “Why is it always us, man?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Must be Thursday. Let’s get out of here before the other guests come asking about gunshots.” Sam tucked the machete into his bag and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I need some coffee if we’re gonna deal with this.”

###

The diner was bright, and the waitress’s smile was brighter. “Good morning!” she chirped. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the special,” Dean ordered, not bothering to look at the menu.

“And for you?” she asked Sam.

“Uh, a smoothie, please. What is the fruit of the day?”

“Let me get back to you on that!” she answered cheerfully, before holding up the carafe in her hand. “Coffee?”

Dean laughed at the expression on his brother’s face as he tried to appreciate the smoothie he’d ordered. “Should have gone for the special, man. Classic mistake.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want to die of heart disease before I’m forty, Dean.” He took another sip to prove his point. It really was… unique.

###

When the waitress returned with their check, Dean was suddenly all business. “So, Twyla. Have you lived here long?”

“All my life!”

“Well, we’re just passing through, working on a piece about the best roadside motels in the country, and –”

“Oh, do you know Emir?” she asked. “How many best roadside motel journalists can there be, what a coincidence!”

Sam picked up the thread. “Oh yeah, Emir, great guy. So about the motel…”

“You should talk to the Roses! They should be in for breakfast any time now. They own the motel, well actually they own the town, it’s kind of a long story, it’s funny actually…” Dean nodded along, but let her monologue fade into the background, until Sam kicked him under the table.

“Here they are now!” Twyla waved, “Mr. Rose! There are more journalists who want to ask you about the motel!”

The man who had just entered the diner smiled broadly at them, and made his way over to the table, accompanied by a woman who Dean could see but not entirely describe. She was…sharp? Or was that just the black rhinestones that covered the sleeves of her sweater?

“Moira Rose,” she crooned, holding out her hand for them to shake, or possibly kiss, judging by the positioning. “This is my husband Johnny, he’s the real mastermind behind the motel. What publication are you from?”

“Please, have a seat Mr. and Mrs. Rose, we just had a few quick questions for a piece we’re writing for the, the –”

“Architectural Digest,” Sam cut in. “We’re doing a special on roadside motels.”

Mr. Rose spread his hands widely, “Well, ask away! Always happy to get some more publicity for the place!”

“Well, we stayed at the motel last night, and heard some strange sounds. Is that a usual occurrence, would you say?”

The man’s face closed off, and he glanced away. “Strange sounds? No, no, that’s not normal. The motel is usually a very quiet, restful place, where you can escape from the hustle and bustle of big city life and just relax.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, shooting a look across the table at Sam. Definitely something suspicious.

“What room did you say you were in again?” Mr. Rose asked, in what was clearly an attempt to be nonchalant.

“We didn’t. But it’s room four.”

The reaction was immediate. “Oh, room four! One of our best rooms, really lovely. Nothing strange going on there, can’t imagine what you heard. We’ll have to have Roland take a look at that plumbing again, won’t we Moira?” He nudged his wife jovially, but the look she shot him back was anything but.

“Would you excuse us for a moment, gentlemen?” she asked, pulling her husband to his feet and towing him to the exit.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “So they definitely know about the ghost then.”

###

The bell above the diner door jingled as Sam and Dean were wrapping up their plan of attack: back to the motel, find the weird girl from the office, and hope she was more helpful than the owners had been.

Dean was sliding some cash under a mug to pay for breakfast when he heard it. “Sam? Sam Winchester? Oh my god, I thought that was you!”

“Alexis!” Sam smiled, and leaned over to give the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen a kiss on the cheek. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here! What happened to your career in New York? Dean, this is Alexis Rose, I helped her out a bit in New York a few years back.”

“Ugh, so _you’re_ Dean, Sam told me all about you. I had a little issue when I was recording my last single and Sam _totally_ saved me,” she giggled.

“Issue?” Dean managed, glaring at Sammy for daring to have met this woman without him present.

“Oh you know,” she said, tapping Dean lightly on his chest with her clutch and wrinkling her nose. “Just a little…spiritual…issue.”

“Um, hello?” The man standing behind Alexis suddenly spoke up, twisting his face in a way that managed to convey both curiosity and distain. “What the fuck is going on here?”

###

Four hours later, Dean stood in front of the motel, silently observing the family drama. You never knew how a family would react when they found out they were being haunted by the ghost of a motel guest none of them had ever spoken to. All things considered, Dean thought, the Roses were taking it pretty well.

“Oh my god.” David put his hand over his heart. “You _kept_ the _sheets_? The sheets that the dead guy in room four _died in_??”

“Of course we kept the sheets, David!” his father yelled. “We’re not made of money here!”

“Well do you at least know which sheets are the ones the dead body slept in?”

“Doesn’t matter, we’re burning them all,” Stevie interrupted, pushing the laundry cart onto the lawn and up to the barbecue that Sam was currently lighting.

“Don’t forget the salt,” Alexis chimed in from where she stood, idly curling a lock of hair around her finger as she scrolled through Instagram.

“Oh Johnny,” Moira sighed, clinging to her husband’s arm as she watched Sam and Stevie feed the motel’s sheets onto the barbecue one by one. “I don’t suppose we could make it Egyptian cotton for the replacements?”


End file.
